


on a wing and a prayer

by Elsin



Series: rule of the beasts [2]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship, Gen, Holidays, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mythology - Freeform, Original Mythology, Post-Season/Series 01 AU, Winter Solstice, discussions of religion, fantasy!Chanukah, lowkey fantasy!judaism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 01:49:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20024563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsin/pseuds/Elsin
Summary: The Moonshadow Elves, perhaps understandably, do not trust the humans to keep their word without some kind of insurance.And so it is that the winter solstice finds Callum in a tower room, kept prisoner in Xadia, left to keep the vigil alone.





	on a wing and a prayer

**Author's Note:**

> the myth bits of this were _heavily_ inspired by Fialleril's Tatooine Slave Culture as well as their other Star Wars worldbuilding and fics; if you want more like it I cannot suggest checking their work out enough.

The western sky was ablaze with the light of the setting sun, and the golden-red light spilled across the tower room where Callum now lived. Looking out at an angle, so as not to be blinded by its glare, he could see the snow that blanketed Xadia around him. Far away, so far that they nearly disappeared over the horizon, he thought he might be able to see the eastern mountains of Katolis.

Already he knew the moon had risen in the east, though he couldn’t see it from this room. He wished for a candle, one tall enough to burn through the night; tonight, once the sun went down, would be the longest night of the year.

He should have been home, sitting by the great hearth with Ezran and Dad and maybe Aunt Amaya. But of the four, only Ezran was home; Dad was gone, Aunt Amaya was at the border, and he was here, in a luxurious tower room in a Moonshadow castle, with a door that locked only from the outside.

Ordinarily, he would have taken a tall candle, and lit it, and sat by it through the night. Well—

Callum had never sat up all night with the candle. That was what the adults did. But he was alone, and he had no more parents, and anyway he was fifteen now, so it was up to him to stay with the candle until dawn.

There was no candle in this room. He’d searched it often enough; there were no open flames at all here, and the room was heated through some Moonshadow magic or technological prowess.

He looked out the window once more. While he’d been thinking, the sun had sunk further; now it was balanced upon the horizon, and Callum knew there wasn’t much time. There was also, unfortunately, no way he’d be given a tall candle and means to light it either; it would be far, far too easy (in the elves’ suspicious eyes, at least) for him to turn that into an escape attempt.

Perhaps that was fair. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d tried to escape, after all.

Callum was clad in clothes as fine as any he’d had in Katolis, and his room had papers and pens and a desk and a comfortable bed; he even had a bookshelf full of books, though none were of magic. But there was no doubt that this was a prison, gilded though it may be, and it would be a foolish use of his meager bargaining power to get something of purely sentimental value.

After all, he was only the step-prince of Katolis, yet so long as he was here the human kingdoms would be cautious about crossing the Breach. Therefore he could not be allowed to escape, nor could he be let go.

As he watched the sun sink ever lower, a sharp knock sounded on his door, and then it opened to reveal Rayla. She wore a dress, and Callum blinked at her; he wasn’t sure what was more surprising, her attire or what she carried. For in one hand she held a tall, white candle, and in the other she had a matchbox and a candlestick.

“Am I late?” she asked, and Callum shook his head.

“You’re just on time,” he said. Outside the window, night was drawing ever-nearer. Rayla set the candlestick down on an empty expanse of floor, and placed the candle in it. She held the matchbox out to him, and he took it.

He took a match, lit the candle, and recited the prayer he knew by heart. For years his lips had moved as he’d half-whispered along with Dad, and now—

Now he was all that was left, out here in Xadia.

The sun had set, and before Callum the Solstice Candle glowed brightly.

“Now what?” asked Rayla. Her dress was silver, and her hair was braided back; it was threaded through with shimmering strands in the same color.

“Now we keep vigil,” said Callum. “The Solstice Candle burns all night, and we keep watch over it. We can sleep once the sun has risen; we mustn’t do so before.”

“Have you done it before, then?” asked Rayla.

“No,” he admitted softly. “It was always the adults who did. But now…” He didn’t finish the thought, but he didn’t think he needed to. Rayla would know what he was implying.

“I’m sorry,” she said, just as soft, and he shook his head.

“It isn’t your fault. We’ve been over this before—can’t we let it rest, at least tonight?”

“All right.” She paused, looking about the room. It had been a long time since Callum had seen her; she’d been with the party that had delivered Ezran back to Katolis, after it had become clear that they weren’t about to let both of them go and Callum had convinced them that if Ezran wasn’t returned they risked a full-scale invasion, but that Callum himself, as a step-prince, would be a less provocative hostage. She had come to see him once after she’d gotten back, and never again.

“Where have you been?” asked Callum before he could think better of potentially alienating the only friend and ally he could be certain of.

“Training,” said Rayla, sounding tired now. “Training, patrolling, scouting… all that sort of thing. And they didn’t want me near you anyway, if that’s what you meant to ask. Thought I might turn traitor to them, for some reason.”

“I wonder why,” said Callum dryly. “Can’t imagine what would have given them that idea.”

More than an hour passed that way, and in the end they found themselves leaning against both the bed and against each others’ shoulders, watching as the Solstice Candle burned.

“Rayla,” said Callum slowly, “I—you don’t have to answer this. But I was wondering—were the other Moonshadow Elves really so wrong to distrust you with me?”

“I don’t know,” said Rayla, whisper-thin and fragile. “If I thought it would work—maybe. But I’m a trained elven assassin, and even I’m not sure how I’d get past everything guarding this tower.”

“Can Zym fly yet?” asked Callum, carefully putting no more emphasis on that than he’d put on anything else.

“Some, yeah,” said Rayla.

“Can he carry anything?”

“Why—oh. _Oh_. Yes. Not for long, but yes.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s here. The Generals don’t want him at the warfront, since for all that he’s much bigger than he was when last you saw him, he’s still so very young, and he doesn’t know how to fight properly. Should I…”

“No,” said Callum, gazing distantly at the candle flame, Rayla warm against his side. “No, not until the candle’s burned out and morning’s come.”

“All right, then,” said Rayla, and though Callum could tell that she didn’t really understand why he was so firm in his determination she’d accepted it anyway, and for that he was grateful.

By then the dusk had long since faded away, and the room was lit only by the dim moonlight and the warm light of the Solstice Candle. More of Rayla’s weight settled on Callum’s shoulder, and when he looked down he saw that she’d fallen asleep there, and was nearly sliding off. Carefully he pulled her into a more stable position; she did not wake, and that, more than her initial falling asleep, told him how tired she was. Ordinarily she was a light sleeper, light enough that moving her at all would wake her.

The flame flickered and danced before his eyes, and against his shoulder Rayla’s breathing was soft and rhythmic. All of it conspired to make Callum’s own eyelids heavy, and, frustrated, he lightly slapped his cheek.

“Come on,” he said aloud. “Stay awake. You can’t go to sleep.”

He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. Elves didn’t cut their hair nearly as short as humans did, and after six months in Xadia his had become shaggy and long. He shook his head; that was no matter. More pressingly, if he didn’t find something to do he’d never last the night. 

There _were_ things he could do, of course. He could dance, or he could sing, or he could speak. Reading and drawing were options as well, but he didn’t have the necessary materials within reach and anyway those weren’t quite so good for staying awake. A story, he thought, would be better told aloud.

“Once,” said Callum softly, “long ago, when we still lived in Xadia across the sea, a tyrant arose among men. His name was Faelor, and he was as cruel as he was powerful. Dark magic did not exist yet, and he was no mage, but he was a lord with great wealth and influence, and in his service were six elves: one for each of the primal sources of magic. They had sworn fealty to him, and under his protection their power grew and flourished.

“Faelor’s armies were great, and his might spread swiftly, and before long he ruled over all of eastern Xadia.

“’I am Lord of the Morning,’ proclaimed Faelor. ‘None can stand against me, and none dare even try. Truly I am become as a God.’

“But something was amiss in Faelor’s great empire. For although he had declared himself the sole ruler and God of the East, King of the Morning, there were those who would not accept this.

“The Children of Katolis, the easternmost Xadian land, called themselves children and servants of La the Sun God, though in the Katolian tongue of old ‘La’ meant only ‘God,’ and they would not bow to Faelor’s rule. They called him King, for he was their king; but they would not call him God of the East, nor even Lord of the Morning, and this enraged Faelor.

“’Send all my armies,’ he said to his generals. ‘Send my armies, as many as you need, and if the people of Katolis will not submit and call me King and God, do not let them live. For I cannot have those in my kingdom who would deny my absolute rule.’ And the generals bowed, and so it was done.

“But when, in mid-June, they came to the first town in Old Katolis, they found it empty. The same was true of the next town, and the next, and finally they came to the capitol at the edge of the sea. It too was deserted, its streets eerily silent, but when they broke down the doors of the Temple of La in the middle of the city, they found a young girl sitting cross-legged in the high priest’s chair, candles burning around her.

“’My name is Batel,’ she said as the soldiers surrounded her, swords drawn and pointed her way. ‘I have no means to do you harm. Bring me before your king.’

“’Why should we?’ asked the general leading the charge, and Batel smiled.

“’If you do not,’ she said, ‘you shall never find the Children of Katolis, for La has hidden us well, and not even the sun’s magic could reveal our whereabouts. The only way you will find us is if you take me to your king.’

“And so the soldiers approached the high priest’s chair, and snuffed out the candles, which was never to be done, and they took Batel and bound her hands before her, and returned to Faelor’s palace with a single Child of Katolis, and not one other in sight. Swiftly Batel was taken before Faelor, who was by now eager to hear the results of his generals’ conquering…” 

* * *

The rope chafed Batel’s wrists, and she ached from the many days of long riding, but beneath it all she smiled, though her face remained stoic. The soldiers of Faelor were but his tools; she had nothing to fear from them. Faelor himself was different, dangerous, but also the key to all of this. The key to ending it. And his soldiers had brought her straight to him.

For many minutes, perhaps even hours, she waited in the antechamber; the stone palace walls were too thick for her to hear the goings-on inside the reception room, though she imagined that Faelor would be furious with the generals for bringing back a single Katolian girl and the news that all others had vanished. Finally, after an interminable wait, the great oaken doors swung open and Batel was led roughly inside.

She fell to her knees when she was within speaking distance of Faelor’s throne; not because she meant to, but because keeping her balance when led by a rope about her wrists was nothing if not difficult.

“So,” sneered Faelor, who would be Lord of the Morning. “You are the one from the temple in Kata, or so my generals claim. They tell me that you said they would never find the Children of Katolis without bringing you before me. You are before me now, girl; now tell me—where are the Katoliana?”

“I cannot say,” said Batel. At that Faelor flew into a towering rage.

“Then why,” snarled he, “did you claim you could lead us to them, if you will not say?”

“You misunderstand me,” said Batel, keeping her voice as even as she could although her heart was in her throat. “I _cannot_ say, for I do not know. And I never promised to lead you anywhere.”

“Enough with this farce,” said Faelor. “Guards, take this girl away and have her executed in the morning.” So the guards grabbed Batel by her bound hands and hauled her to her feet, but she only laughed.

“I wouldn’t do that,” said she.

“And why should I not?” asked Faelor. “I am Faelor, Lord of the Morning, Greatest of Men, God among Kings. You are but a little girl.”

“Maybe,” said Batel with a smile. “But without me you will never find the Children of Katolis, for we are hidden well in our Father, La’s, protection.”

“Then what would you say to me, to have me spare you? What can you offer me?”

“Stories,” said Batel. “Stories of the miracles La has worked, for you say you are Lord of the Morning, and truly your military prowess and empire’s sprawl are impressive. But if you are indeed Lord of the Morning, God among Kings, then you should match La’s miracles with ease.”

“Why must there be stories?” asked Faelor. “Why not simply tell me of the miracles?”

“Without the stories,” said Batel, “you will not understand the miracles. Without understanding, even La could not recreate them.”

“Then tell me a story,” said Faelor, who would be Lord of the Morning.

And Batel smiled, and began.

For six long months Batel stayed in Faelor’s palace. Each week she told him a new story, and by the end of each week he showed her the story’s miracle before her very eyes.

Each time, he asked, “Am I yet as La to you?” And each time, Batel gave the same reply.

“No,” she would say. “Not yet.” And Faelor would scowl, and grind his teeth, and ask for the next story.

And Batel would smile, and begin.

In December, when she was brought before Faelor, he showed her his latest miracle. Before her very eyes, he turned water into wine with nothing more than a touch of his fingertip.

“Am I yet as La to you?” he asked.

“No,” said Batel. “Not yet. But you are close. I have only one story left. When it is done, if you can do it, you will be as La to me.”

“Then tell me this next story,” said Faelor, now eager to hear what the final barrier to his godhood in the eyes of the Children of Katolis was.

Batel smiled, and began.

“This,” she said, “is the story of how La gave us light in our first winter after we rose from the land…”

This tale was longer and far more complex than any of the others had been before, and by the time it was done four days had elapsed. In three nights, the Winter Solstice would arrive, and with it, Batel knew, would come her salvation.

“Because this is the final miracle,” said Batel, “there is something more to it than the others.”

“And what is that?” asked Faelor, who was wary of Batel’s words but nonetheless confident in his own abilities.

“We will both attempt this miracle,” said Batel, “and we will do it on top of Old Vanna.”

“You will be dressed as I choose,” said Faelor, “and you will have a candle of my choosing, too.”

“Of course,” said Batel.

“Then it is agreed.”

At sundown of the longest night of the year, Batel and Faelor and the royal entourage arrived upon the flat top of Old Vanna, the highest mountain in Faelor’s empire. Batel wore only a thin, rough cotton slip and was barefoot, and in her hands she held a candle hardly big enough to last an hour. Overhead, a storm was brewing. Faelor wore furs and coats and held an enormous candle, more than two days’ worth of wax, and accompanying were his six elven mages. He sat in the great chair his servants had carried for him, and upon a table he set his candle. With a single gesture from him, the candle lit.

Batel sat cross-legged upon the snow some distance away, and carefully set down her own candle in the snow. If this did not work, she would be dead, she knew—of frostbite—long before Faelor could do anything to her. And so she opened her mouth, and in the lowest possible voice, began to pray.

“La,” she said. “O my Father, hear my prayer, for I am your child and I fear I shall soon be lost…”

Her candle lit itself, without her hands so much as touching it. Batel smiled, and kept talking.

Soon she realized that the icy cold, which had been creeping into her bones, was gone; her whole body hummed with a warmth she knew was a mere fraction of La’s endless energy. Before her in the snow her little candle blazed strong. All around her, the wind picked up and snow began to fall, but none of it touched Batel or her candle, which never even flickered.

Across the mountaintop, Faelor was struggling. He had shielded his candle from the wind as best as he could, and was keeping it fueled as best as he could too, but the storm was strong and vast and his mages, for all their prowess and vast knowledge, were but mortal mages. They could not keep the storm away entirely, and Faelor found that even through his blankets and furs he was shivering.

Twice his candle guttered, and the third time it nearly went out; he nearly snapped at his elven mages, but his jaw was icy cold and he could not disrupt their concentration. And so he sat there, and shivered, and watched his candle flickering in the storm.

All through the night and the storm, Batel kept talking, a single, lengthy prayer to La, never stopping for more than a breath… 

* * *

“…and in the morning,” said Callum, his voice ragged now, “when the sun peeked over the horizon, the storm vanished as if it had never been. On the eastern side of the mountain sat Batel, perfectly comfortable, with her little candle still burning before her.

“In the west were what seemed to be seven statues—but statues they were not. They were Faelor and his six elven mages, and all had been frozen solid in the storm. There was nothing more for Batel to do, so she picked up her candle and got to her feet. When she came down the mountain, alone and barefoot and still in only the rough cotton slip, the candle still burning in her hands even as the sun rose higher in the sky, all of Faelor’s generals and servants and nobles bowed low before her.

“’No,’ said Batel. ‘Do not bow to me, for I am not your Queen and I am not Lord of the Morning either. I am but his servant. The power lent to me on this night is not my own.’

“Still the people shrank back in fear from her, dreading what she might do to those who had oppressed her people so; but again she shook her head.

“’All I desire,’ said Batel, ‘is that the Children of Katolis be left alone in our lands. I require nothing else.’

“The trembling lords and generals at once agreed, and they brought Batel back to the palace, and outfitted her as would befit a princess, and heaped lavish gifts upon her, and sent her on her way riding the finest horse in the royal stables, with the finest mule to carry her packs. For they had all seen that La was watching over his children, and the empire that Faelor had built, though it lasted generations more, never again attacked Katolis.”

Callum heaved a sigh, glad that the story was over now, though it did mean he’d have to come up with some other method of keeping himself awake.

“Do you believe in La, then?” asked Rayla, and Callum jumped and looked down to see Rayla’s open eyes looking back up at him.

“I don’t know,” said Callum. “I… I thought you were asleep.”

“I was, at the start,” said Rayla, straightening up and pulling her head off his shoulder. “But I woke up… oh, around when Batel first meets Faelor, I think.”

“You heard most of the important parts, then,” said Callum.

“You don’t have to answer this, not if you don’t want to,” said Rayla slowly, “but if you don’t believe in La, then why light the candle and stay up the night? Do you even know if the story’s true?”

“Tradition,” said Callum. “It’s an old tradition, from before the time we were exiled from Xadia—and it became ever-stronger after that, since we were driven from our homes just as the empire tried to remove us from our culture. And… no. I don’t know how true the story is. No one does. Some parts are true—the empire, the invasion, that’s all true. That we weren’t all killed. But there’s debate over whether there was a girl called Batel, and if she did exist if she really sat through the Solstice night atop a mountain in a thin dress with an hour’s worth of candle burning all night.” He sighed, and leaned his head back, looking up at the shadowed ceiling above the Solstice Candle. “It’s not really the point, though, whether it literally happened that way or not.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the story and the tradition and what it all symbolizes that’s important, not the actual truth behind the story.” Callum shrugged. “There are people who believe very strongly. There are others who don’t believe at all. Most of them celebrate the holidays regardless of whether or not they believe in La, or in Batel’s story.”

“Ah,” said Rayla. She was quiet for a moment, before asking, “So what do we do, now that you’ve told that story?”

“Well,” said Callum thoughtfully, “like I said, I’ve never stayed up the whole night before. But usually there’s dancing and singing. There’s not enough room in here for dancing, but maybe I could teach you some Katolian Solstice songs, and you could teach me some Moonshadow Elf songs?”

“All right, then,” said Rayla. “Shall we begin?”

And so they began, and their songs kept them up the rest of the night as the candle slowly burned down. In the gray pre-dawn light, Rayla quietly stood, and Callum got up with her.

“I won’t make my move until the sun rises,” said Rayla softly. They were of a height, Callum realized suddenly, at least as long as you didn’t count her horns. He’d grown in his months of imprisonment. “You’d better get dressed in the sturdiest things you have; Zym’s scales aren’t exactly smooth. I’ll see you soon.” She hesitated for a moment, then spun, her silver skirt briefly flaring out about her, and crossed to the door.

The elf on the other side looked in, ordered Callum to stand facing the far wall with his hands behind his head, and let Rayla out. After a brief but fierce argument Callum was allowed to keep the candle, and then the door had shut behind Rayla, the window had been closed again, and he found himself swiftly changing his clothes and packing a small backpack. All the while, he kept an eye on the candle, making sure he never made enough wind to blow it out; it was burning low, and just as Callum was dressed and the candle flame was sputtering in a sea of its own melted wax, an alarm bell that Callum had heard only once before began to ring.

The Solstice Candle flickered out, and in the newly sunlit snow beyond his windows Callum saw a large shadow, coming his way.

When Zym flew up to the window, Callum gaped at him. He was many times larger than he’d been just six months ago, and with Rayla already sitting astride him it didn’t look like Callum would have trouble fitting on too.

“Stand back!” called Rayla, and he did; then with a few swipes of Zym’s claws the metal and glass blocking Callum’s path to freedom all fell away. “Well? What are you waiting for? Come on, let’s go!”

“I’m coming,” said Callum, and he climbed into his empty window frame, deliberately not looking down. Zym came closer, and then a tiny leap had him astride the dragon prince just behind Rayla and they were soaring away. He gave an incoherent yell of delight; nothing, _nothing_ could have prepared him for the sweet smell of fresh, free air, as encountered from the back of a dragon.

“Quiet,” said Rayla tersely, and he hushed; he didn’t want to interrupt her, for she seemed to be intensely focused. “I… may not have mentioned,” she said, “but… I’ve learnt a bit of illusions now. As long as Zym moves smoothly and we don’t make much noise, no one should see any of us.”

“Whoa,” said Callum. “I didn’t—I mean—that’s incredible.”

“I am pretty incredible,” said Rayla, but her tense voice told Callum that the cheeky words were at least in part a façade.

Soon they’d left the clear areas around the castle where Callum had been held captive all those months, and almost as soon as they did Zym touched down in a forest clearing. Not a moment after they’d gotten off his back, he groaned and flopped over onto his side.

“Thanks, Zym,” said Callum. “We couldn’t have done it without you. I’d still be stuck in that tower, without you…”

“Callum,” said Rayla warningly. “We need to keep on. Thank you, Zym. You’re… you’re a good friend. I hope we won’t see each other across a battlefield.” Zym made a whining sort of sound that was almost garbled speech, though Callum couldn’t understand it at all, and pointed with his tail in the direction away from the castle.

They did not run. Running would have only drawn more attention, had they been spotted, and it would have left more of a trail to follow too. Instead they walked as briskly as they could, always taking the paths with the most cover, and Rayla constantly on alert for anything odd. Callum was watchful, too, but he didn’t know the woods and he didn’t know Xadia and anyway his senses weren’t as good as Rayla’s, so she carried the bulk of that task.

In the late afternoon, dragged down by weariness, they found they could not go on, and it was little more than luck that at that moment they stumbled upon a small cabin in a forest clearing. Rayla sighed in obvious relief.

“What is it?” asked Callum, who saw no reason to be relieved; he was human, obviously human, and any house this side of the Breach would contain only elves.

“Old Aloo lives here,” said Rayla. “She’s kind enough to strangers, but she hates the war and anything a part of it; she won’t tell soldiers or assassins a thing about you. Although we probably shouldn’t give her your real name. What should we call you?”

Callum looked to Old Aloo’s house, and thought of long winter nights filled with stories and tricksters, thought of Katolis, thought of _home_. He let a small smile slowly spread across his face.

“You can call me Batel.”

**Author's Note:**

> this started as a broody angstfic feat. Callum all alone for the holidays, kept captive in Xadia, and somehow it became this monstrosity of religionbuilding, friendship, lowkey shiptease(?), and a jailbreak. I… I don’t know what happened.
> 
> Also, apparently my fantasy!Christmas turned into fantasy!Chanukah when I wasn't looking. Didn’t mean to do that, but here we are.
> 
> …
> 
> Me: writes spiraling holiday!fic
> 
> Me: posts six months later
> 
> don’t @ me.


End file.
